


Winter

by theperfectstorm



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Homophobia, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:16:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theperfectstorm/pseuds/theperfectstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an English major with a secret.  Harry is a handyman's apprentice with a past.  When they meet, they learn what happens when a volcano and a hurricane meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is an English major with a secret. Harry is a handyman's apprentice with a past. When they meet, they learn what happens when a volcano and a hurricane meet.

It was a dreary day. That's what Louis remembers the most. It had been raining since before the sun had risen, and hadn't stopped until long after it had set.  As the oldest child, he tried to keep his sisters entertained all day, but he grew tired after a few hours.  He had just turned eight, but he felt more like he was eighty.

His father finally came home long after the rain had subsided, smelling of alcohol and smoke.  Louis was used to this by now, but that didn't stop it from bothering him.  He wondered sometimes if it was all his fault that his own father had chosen to use alcohol and drugs to cope.  Louis would sit obediantly on the couch after his sisters had been put to bed, and wait for the man to come home.  He was doing just that on the night that Louis' entire world changed.

"Still up, are you?" asked his father, slurring his words.  "You have school tomorrow.  Go to bed."

Before Louis could even stand, his mother appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Troy?" she called out softly.  "Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, woman?" he snapped back.

Her expression hardened.

"Bed, Louis," she said, not even looking at him.

Knowing what was coming, Louis hurried up the stairs to his bedroom.  He burrowed beneath the blankets and pressed a pillow to his ears to block out their voices.  It didn't work; it never did.  He could still hear them screaming at each other.  He even knew what they were saying to each other.  Silent tears flowed down his face as he heard _the_ word spat from his father's mouth.

He was causing his parents' fights.  He knew it was true, despite what his mother would say.  His father told him otherwise, when he would even bother to communicate with his only son.  He longed to hear the couple speak to each other the way they used to.  They would go out ballroom dancing and come home late at night, smiling and laughing, then come into each of their children's rooms to give them goodnight kisses.  Louis missed those kisses so much that it hurt sometimes.

Now his house was a battlefield.  Troy versus Jay.  Louis wasn't sure who was winning, but he wasn't sure he wanted either of them to win.  He wasn't sure he would like what happened when the battle eventually ended.

Louis heard angry footsteps thunder up the stairs and into his parent's room.  He sat up in his bed, grateful that he'd remembered to lock the door.

He heard the angry footsteps once more, thundering into his oldest sister's bedroom.

After that, Louis refused to remember.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is an English major with a secret. Harry is a handyman's apprentice with a past. When they meet, they learn what happens when a volcano and a hurricane meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONSIDER THIS A TRIGGER WARNING! this is a very VERY heavy story, and there are things that may trigger some people in it. proceed with caution

Louis swore angrily as the hard tile floor met with his body. He lay face down on the tile for a moment, letting the cool tile sooth his throbbing neck. He knew that he would be covered in bruises in the morning.

 

But right now, it was just after two in the morning, and Louis couldn't bring himself to regret it.

He looked behind him at the toilet he had just been standing on. The seat and top were both cracked from him jumping.  He had broken his toilet.  In any other circumstances, that would have made him laugh, but he couldn't even force a smile in the state he was in.  He would claim, if anyone asked, to have no idea how it had happened, but he couldn't lie to himself. He knew exactly what had broken it.  A part of him wanted to punch himself in the face for breaking his only toilet, but the majority of him was angry because once again, he had failed.

The memory of the flashback that had caused the entire episode came flooding into his mind and he gasped for air . It was pathetic that, after all these years, it still affected him this much to simply remember.  He'd stopped crying years ago, but the fact that he was this broken from something that had happened to him so long ago made him feel so defenseless.  No matter how traumatic it had been, or how many people told him that it was "understandable" or "alright" to still hurt, he would never tell himself the same.

He pulled himself onto shaky legs that he wasn't sure would support his weight, and made his way back to his bedroom, using the wall as support.  He collapsed into his bed face-down, cursing himself.

He was so weak.

He had class in just over five hours, and yet he was still awake, feeling sad about something that had happened when he was a kid.  He lived a very pathetic life, if he could even call it that much.

He found his mind wandering.  He tried his very best to keep it from doing so, but he was so exhausted that he didn't even try to stop it this time. Though he knew it would bring him more pain, he didn't have the energy necessary to control his thoughts.  He wondered if he remembered.  The boy that he had lost it all for.  The boy that had changed Louis forever.  The boy that had unintentionally torn his entire life to shreds.

If he did remember, it wouldn't affect him as it did Louis.  He hadn't lost anything, after all.  And he had always been stronger than Louis, ever since they'd been little kids...

That was far enough.  Louis rolled onto his side and cleared his mind, banishing him from his mind.  In the morning, he would call a handyman to fix his toilet, and he would put this night behind him.

It was ironic that, while all of his friends were out partying and living their lives to the fullest, Louis was trying to end his.

With a sad smile on his face, he closed his eyes and prayed to whatever God was listening to let him fall asleep.

* * *

Apparently, whichever God had answered Louis was a bittersweet one.

Louis awoke with a start to his alarm clock beeping obnoxiously into the still-dark room around him.  With a groan, he slapped the snooze button and rolled onto his other side.  He was odd in many ways, but his best friends said that the weirdest thing about him was that he was thankful for his alarm clock waking him up most mornings.

He pushed himself out of bed, trying to banish the nightmare he'd just woken up from out of his mind.  He stumbled to his bathroom, desperate for a release.

Seeing the broken remains of his toilet only heightened his anxious state.

He opened his medicine cabinet, rifling through it for the object he was seeking.  He knocked over countless pill bottles in the process, but he didn't care.  His attention was on one thing, and one thing only.  He met his reflection's eyes for a moment, finding a terrified-looking boy staring back at him.  His blue eyes were wide with fear, his brown hair messed up from sleep.

Finally finding what he was searching for, Louis sat on the floor with his back against the wall and legs curled up beneath him.  He never wore a shirt to bed, which eliminated a step from the whole process, but would cause his loved ones distress, should they ever see him.

His once-tan skin had paled from spending every free moment indoors.  His bones were visible beneath his skin, due to his lack of appetite.  But the most disturbing part about him were the angry red slashes that littered his body like a rash, mostly lingering on his arms and thighs.

Holding the razor in his hand, he made a mental note to buy more after school as this was his last one, and he could see dried blood on it.  That couldn't be sanitary.

He pressed the blade to his skin, but didn't push yet.  He simply felt the cool metal against him as he calmed his breathing.  If he cut himself while he was at the peak of an anxiety attack, he knew that all it would bring him were more stitches in his arms and another stay in a mental ward.  He didn't want to deal with that.

As his heartbeat and breathing slowed, he used his arm strength to push the blade into his skin, already seeing a line of blood where the razor had separated his skin.

Even the mentally ill thought Louis was crazy.  During his multiple hospital stays, when he would explain why he cut himself, he would be met with a roomful of frightened looks.

It was the separation of his skin that did it for him.  The dripping of his blood and the pain were part of it, yes, but for some reason Louis compared the two ends of his skin to him and his past.  The deeper he cut, the further they would get from each other.  The deeper he cut, the more he freed himself of his thoughts.

He dragged the razor across his arm, holding his breath until he lifted the razor from his now-mangled skin.  The cut bled steadily, as most of his did. He pressed the razor to the fresh wound and repeated his action, not pushing as hard as he had, but still feeling the ripping and tearing of his flesh. His head spun as he gasped, but he felt free.  His mind was on one thing, which was a rare occurrence for him.  Usually, he would have a million thoughts rushing around his head at the same time.

The blood dripping from his arm pooled beneath it on the tile floor, but he couldn't have been bothered to clean it up yet.  He let the wound bleed for a few more moments, the razor thrown somewhere to his left, focusing on the pain and imagining that he and his past were as far apart as the two ends of the wound, before he stood gingerly, his head spinning again from blood loss, and turned on his sink.

He rinsed the cut beneath cool water, flinching at the sting of it, then grabbed a towel and pressed it to his arm, grabbing his bottle of hydrogen peroxide.  He flipped the cap open when the bleeding subsided, then upturned it and squeezed.

He hissed and grit his teeth at the pain it caused, but didn't stop until he felt it was cleaned thoroughly.  He opened his antibiotic ointment and grabbed a large band aid, spreading the ointment across the cotton and gingerly sticking it to his wound.  He then wrapped an ace bandage around his arm tightly and sighed.

It truly was no way to live.  He knew that, but he couldn't stop.  Well, he could, but he didn't want to.  It was the only thing that made him feel alright, even if it only was for a moment.

He pulled out a roll of paper towels and a bottle of bleach, cleaning up the pool of blood and, for good measure, the sink.  The scent burned his nostrils and his arms were sore from scrubbing, especially his injured arm, by the time he had finished.  Looking at the clock on his stereo, he swore loudly.  He had twenty minutes to get ready and to his class.

He hurriedly threw on a plain white t-shirt, then pulled a huge sweatshirt on over it.  Luckily for him, no one thought anything of someone wearing long sleeves every day in the winter.  He wrapped a scarf around his neck to cover his bruises.  The bruises weren't noticeable, but he knew that both of his best friends would notice them straightaway.  He pulled on a pair of black sweatpants, not really caring that he would look like a bum, then hurried out the door with his book bag on his shoulder.

As usual, his best friend, Zayn, was waiting for him outside of his apartment.  He was leaning against the fence, looking completely at ease.  His hair was perfectly styled and, Louis noticed, that damn blonde streak that he hated so much was back.  His brown eyes were filled with amusement; Louis wasn't sure whether it was at his lateness, his appearance, or the look of disgust he was sure was on his face at the reappearance of the streak against Zayn's jet-black hair.

“Woke up late?” he asked as Louis neared him.

Louis nodded, his stomach clenching guiltily as it always did when he lied to Zayn.

“Hit the damn snooze button.”

Zayn laughed.

“They really need to stop making alarm clocks with snooze buttons," he said, starting to walk with Louis trailing just behind him.

Louis nodded in agreement after he'd caught up to Zayn.

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as they made their way to their first destination.  It had been their morning routine for as long as they'd been in uni for Zayn to meet Louis at his apartment building, then for the two of them to walk to their third best friend, Niall's, dorm building.  The three would then walk to class together.

Louis loved his two best friends dearly.  He and Niall had fallen together just after his life had fallen apart, with him actually living with Niall for a time. The Irish boy's infectious laugh and positive view on life had been a welcome change from what he'd come from.  They'd been best friends for four or five years when Zayn walked into their lives just before they started secondary school.  Usually, Louis had a hard time letting people into his heart and trusting them, but when Niall had introduced the pair, Zayn's eyes had made Louis trust him.  Louis believed wholeheartedly that the eyes were the window to the soul, and he judged everyone based on them.  Zayn's had been kind that day, with a wise undertone that he'd only seen in elders, and that had been enough for Louis.  The trio hadn't been away from each other since.  They truly were his family.

Niall was his annoying mother, who would comfort Louis as he poured his heart out to him as he sobbed on his shoulder, then turn around and nag him to do his laundry.  Zayn was his overprotective father, who would beat anyone within an inch of their life if they looked at Louis wrong, and then give him the best advice he had ever gotten.

Now, in their second year at uni, Louis realized how parental his best friends were.  They would fret and dote over him as though he were their own child.  When they'd first gone to uni and Louis had insisted on getting his own apartment, both had instantly persisted on his living with one of them, but Louis was the most stubborn person he'd ever met.  If he didn't want to do something, he wouldn't.  And he didn't want to live with anyone, so that was that.  It was nice to be cared about, but Louis was constantly on edge, knowing that his whole world would change once again if they ever discovered his secret.  He and change had never gotten on too well.

“So, did you get that god damned blonde streak just to spite me, or was it because you were drunk?” asked Louis.

“A bit of both,” Zayn replied, smirking.  “I wish you'd been there, but at the same time, I know you would've stopped me.  I kind of missed it, honestly.”

“I definitely didn't,” whined Louis.  Zayn laughed.

“It's not that bad,” he said defensively.  “You're just dramatic.”

“Whatever you say,” said Louis, letting Zayn win as they reached Niall's dorm building.  The blonde Irishman was already waiting for the pair at the end of the sidewalk leading to the building.

“Alright,” he called out in his moderate Irish accent when they were within earshot.  “Which of you tossers overslept?”

Zayn pointed at Louis.

“Don't look at me, it was all sleeping beauty,” Zayn said, widening his eyes innocently.

Louis wondered if Zayn would be making jokes if he knew why Louis had really been late.  Then he shook his head.  God, he was horrible, thinking things like that about his best friends, the only people that cared about him.

“Sorry, it was a... long night,” said Louis, looking down at his Toms.

The other two immediately caught on, realizing that something wasn't right.  Zayn immediately switched into father mode.

“What happened?” asked Zayn fiercely, gently lifting Louis' chin with his finger to force him to meet his eyes.  Louis could see the anger behind them.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.  “Just another... flashback.”

Zayn dropped his finger abruptly, the anger in his eyes clouding over with concern.  He pulled Louis into a tight hug, and Louis felt the air _whoosh_ out of him.  He felt a second pair of arms encircle him and Zayn a moment later, and knew that Niall had joined the hug.

“Guys,” he gasped.  “Can't.  Breathe.”

The two broke their hold on Louis, Zayn keeping an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought I told you,” Niall began sadly, “to please call me if you have a flashback.”

Louis looked at the tree behind Niall guiltily as he answered.  “And I thought I told you that I can't think straight when I have flashbacks.”

He hadn't said it cruelly; Niall wasn't trying to be mean to him.  But neither of the two beside him understood how his flashbacks worked.  That he couldn't “please call” anyone, because he could hardly breathe or form coherent thoughts, let alone words.  His entire body would shut down.  He couldn't even move to get to his phone in the first place.

“Lou,” said Zayn slowly as they began walking again.  “Maybe one of us should move in with you.  I know you stopped seeing your therapist and taking your medicine with permission, but I don't think it's helped you one bit.”

“You aren't a therapist, Zayn,” Louis reminded him.  “I'm going to have these for the rest of my life unless some act of God stops them.  Personally, I don't want either of you arseholes living with me for the rest of my life.”

He smiled to show that he was joking, but neither of the other two returned it.  He really hated how protective they could get at times.

“Really guys,” he said, offering a small smile at each in turn, “I'm fine.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” asked Niall.

“Well, I had a nightmare, but that's nothing new.”

“You're gonna tell us about it after school,” said Zayn, as they had just reached their destination.  He aimed a serious look at Louis, who rolled his eyes.

“I have to get some groceries after school.  Maybe after that?”

“Fine by me,” said Zayn.  “But you're going to tell us.”

The look on his face killed any argument Louis would have made.

“I'll see you after class,” he said, meeting Zayn's death glare with a look of defeat.

Niall smiled and pulled him into a hug.  “Have a good day, Lou,” he whispered in his ear.

Zayn was also smiling when Niall let go of Louis.  He pulled him into a hug as well, but didn't whisper anything into his ear.  Louis was grateful; Zayn was the sort to give a lecture if he didn't like something.

He waved good-bye to his friends and made his way to his first block, which was also his favorite.  Louis was an English major, meaning that the majority of his classes revolved around the subject in some way.  His first class was creative writing.  The other students in the class complained that it was boring because all that they did was write, but Louis wished he could spend more time in the class.  He lived for the sudden inspiration that would turn into him scribbling away for twenty minutes determinedly without a single other thought in his mind.  Other than when he cut, it was the only time he could escape his mind.

He set his bag down and pulled out his composition notebook, opening it to where he had left off on Friday. He rolled his eyes at himself when he noticed that he hadn't even finished his last sentence.

When the bell rang, the teacher stood.

“You know the drill,” she said, clapping her hands.  “Remember, your short story is due next Wednesday.  Get to it.”

She sat once more, and Louis pulled out his phone, plugging his headphones into it.  He went to his playlist labeled “Writing” and set it to shuffle, letting the calming music wash through his body.  The playlist was a mix of fast and slow songs, but Louis always preferred to listen to the slower songs to begin with.

He wasn't a nerd by any means, but he had already finished the assignment the teacher was talking about.  He always finished them within a few days of being assigned them to allow for more time to write for himself.  It was therapeutic.

He read over what he'd written.  It was a more emotional example of his writing, but so far he liked it.  He hadn't experienced writers block yet, and had only paused in writing it when he couldn't think of a word.

He was writing about his nightmare.

He may have agreed to tell Niall and Zayn about the nightmare, but he had no intentions of actually doing so.  They'd heard the story countless times before.  It was the same dream he'd had every night for as long as he could remember.

He put his pen to the paper and began to write.

 

-Louis' pov-

 

_"It was dark, extremely dark.  Not a normal kind of darkness; the kind that would make even the toughest man cower like a scared child at what it hid.  It would swallow you whole if you let it._

_I became aware that I was sitting on a couch.  It wasn't any special couch, it was just a normal couch.  I knew that I was waiting for something, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what I was waiting for.  All I knew was that it was dark and I was afraid of whatever I was waiting for._

_Suddenly, light flooded in around me.  A door had been opened.  I heard quiet footsteps make their way down the stairs, feeling my fear subside slightly._

_"Lou, love?" I heard my mother call softly.  Her face was illuminated by the dim light that I assumed came from her open bed room door._

_She came over and sat beside me on the couch.  I felt my throat tighten and eyes sting with tears.  This didn't escape her attention._

_"Oh, Louis," she cooed, pulling me in to a hug.  I felt safe in her arms.  Whole._

_She stroked my hair and whispered how she loved me in my ear.  She told me it wasn't my fault.  She gently suggested I go to bed, rather than wait up.  She told me he would be awhile, as though I didn't already know that._

_"Mum, if I wait for him every night, maybe one night he'll come home and love me again."_

_I saw tears fill her eyes and felt confusion.  Why was she sad?  She knew what I was saying was true.  He didn't love me.  She smiled at me through her tears._

_"Be brave, Louis," she whispered to me as she evaporated around me._

_I was alone in the dark once more._

_"Mum?!" I screamed out, desperate for her arms.  "Don't leave me! Mum!"_

_She was gone._

_Another door opened.  The fear I'd felt was almost suffocating me as I turned toward the door._

_"Still up, are you?" asked none other than my father, his words slurred.  "You have school tomorrow.  Go to bed."_

_Before I could even stand, I felt a sharp pain on my cheek and realized that he'd punched me._

_I was used to being hit by my father when he was drunk.  It hurt, but I would ignore the pain until he couldn't see my tears._

_This time, I let a tear fall._

_"She's not here to save you this time," he growled.  "I've been wanting to do this for years."_

_He held a gun to my head, and I didn't fight.  I felt the cool metal against my forehead, but I felt no fear._

_"Time to die, faggot," he said solemnly as he pulled the trigger."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't want to end this on a cliff hanger, so i tried not to... sorry if i failed :P chapter two is literally done so i'll update saturday :) feedback is appreciated!


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